It Allows for Silence
by PhoenixDragonDreamer
Summary: Sometimes, it allows for silence. The crackling of heat against pavement as the horizon stretches on and on - sand, wind, trees, cracked concrete meeting endless, endless sky...
1. Chapter 1

_**Title:**_** It Allows for Silence  
**_**Author:**_** PhoenixDragon  
**_**Fandom:**_** Supernatural  
**_**Genre:**_** Gen (for now, anyway), Angst, Horror  
**_**Characters/Pairing:**_** Dean (for now) other characters mentioned  
**_**Rating:**_** R (gonna get nasty once or twice folks)  
**_**Warnings:**_** Set S3/S4, mentions of violence and gore.  
**_**A/N:**_** More thinky than anything else, guys. Kind of a reluctant foray back into writing. Just bear with me for now - and we'll see this through!  
**_**Summary:**_** Silence is salvation  
**_**Disclaimer(s):**_** I don't own them - and in the end, that is WAY better for them and mores the pity for me! Kripke takes better care of them, anyway (and we all know what a bad Daddy HE is, lol!)**

_Sometimes, it allows for silence. _

_The crackling of heat against pavement as the horizon stretches on and on - sand, wind, trees, cracked concrete meeting endless, endless sky... _

_The heated greasy feel of a cleaning rag after checking the oil, the stench of enginehotmotorscorchedmetal crashing into you and out again as you breathe - you only coming up for air when it's done - slamming the hood shut with the blood of Her caked under your nails in a brownish-black smear until it is wiped clean with a rag that shows its age... _

_The hissing fizz of a Coke in your throat after a job well done, bubbles of carbonation rising up to tickle your nose and make your eyes water with the sudden shock of cold, even as the same reminds you of heat and sweat found under the hood - even as it flashes memories of times gone by - but they are all ALL like this hot/cold/sweat and satisfaction - all in a bright red can with that white squiggle on the side... _

_It allows it even in the scuffle-screek of boots against the ground as you shift for a better position upon the Car, Her metal burning a hole in your left buttock as you relish the very feel of it - the contrast between the heated jeans against your skin and the slick, icy feel of the cola can in your hand - its sugary-washed stickiness coating your tongue enough to send shivers down your spine and creeping against the base of your skull..._

_It lets you know that you're alive - even when a fleeting, worried tendril of thought tells you that you are most certainly_ not ~

_**SAMMM? SAMMM!!!!!**_ ~

_not in the_ real _sense anyway - but that is a worry that can be saved for later. Right now there is just the ripple mirage of road ahead, the squeaky trill of tunes coming through the cracked window beside you and the thrum of 'Go-Go-Go' against every fiber of your being._

_It was time to move on.___

* * *

He always liked driving at night. He liked _everything_ better about the nighttime, really - but driving...driving was an experience all in itself at night. Nothing existed but the road - no signs but those that flashed by in the wash of your headlights, no farms, no trees, no movement. Just you, the road, the moon, the silence.

It all came down to the silence.

Heavy and oppressive, light and teasing, thrumming with the noise underneath - silence was **real**, silence was salvation. In the quiet, in the stillness, your breathing and heartbeat were more heard than felt - though that sensation wasn't quite right either. You just _**were**_ - and that was okay. It was the noise that could do you in - screaming, pleading, whispers - all were just obstacles in the path of your destruction - obstacles to be picked up and tossed aside as you raced to the finish line of nothingness. To listen to the silence and breath and know, just _know _that this was the end, that it was over.

Well...

That was salvation in and of itself, wasn't it? And nothing brought that out more than the open road. The open road through the darkness - that was the road for him - it always had been, always would be. And he was satisfied with that, he was comfortable with that - he was an easy man to please all told. Who needed the light anyway? Light was pervasive and glaring, light was far more dangerous than the dark, truth be told. A hell of alot more things could hide in the light of day, than in the pitch-black of night - the soft darkness soothed the bleakness away, the tragic screaming horror of life as it laid out, dying in the sun. It was so much easier to hide in the light, the side of the light - and never be seen for what you are. For what you were - or what you could be.

In the dark it was easier to be nothing. And when that was all you ever were, well...

It was just easy.


	2. Chapter 2

_See Previous Chapter/Part for disclaimers and notes - hope you enjoy!_

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* * *

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Their faces came to him sometimes. They slid across one another, like oil over water - melding, shifting - always there but NOT. Like now... It _could_ be Sam, or Bobby, or even Dad - any number of people - but experience told him to not trust this. He found it hard to trust anything - his sanity least of all. That is always the first thing to go - and one of the last things you were reminded of before there was nothing left. He had seen it - had _felt_ it. Felt it trying to re-hinge itself as it all slipped away - there was nothing beyond the black. It was almost a comfort that there COULD be an end to it all. A reprieve if you will. But in many ways, that was the biggest secret to any torture - if it was continuous, you got used to it, got complacent. When it stopped...well, that was -

"-when the fun begins, isn't it, Dean?" Now it was Bobby-Sam-John-Bobby - flickering, flickering, in and out and around themselves - not like oil on water now - more like flames. Well, ordinary flames, anyway - there was no describing what laid in wait in The Pit - and the flames were the most benign things there, surprisingly - but ordinary?

Not by a long-shot.

He felt his head turning, though everything in him screamed to resist - focus on the road, the sky - anything, anything, _anything_ - but he was as helpless before the force of it, like a beach was against the tide. There was no resistance, _that_ was the illusion, they let you keep most of your illusions and your delusions - made it more fun in the end. And this? This was just -

" -that break, that halt to the torment? That's when the fun _really_ starts - it's all in the **anticipation** of it." Glee, pain, heartbreak, joy in that voice - voices, actually - like the 'vision' couldn't make up its mind today. He was made to face It, neck feeling like it was being ground to powder as he still steadily fought to maintain control of his own actions. Not yet - he wasn't ready yet - this was suppose to be _his_ time, he wasn't suppose to go back yet - _please_ not yet!

He tried once to burrow further into his mind - the one place they couldn't quite reach - but he had learned early that to do so was not wise. Being flayed alive and your entrails ripped out and fed to you was _nothing_ compared to the pain they could inflict in your mind as they hauled you back to 'reality' - steely, blood-flushed hooks sunk in and pulled and pulled and pulled and no matter how you screamed, clawed and dug in your heels - you **would** come out, it was just a matter of time, really - and time was no object there.

Of course, even when you did come back to 'yourself' it didn't mean the fun had stopped. And it certainly didn't mean that those 'hooks' came out - oh no, that would take away the joy of it all. Keeping them in only assured that you -

"-are listening to me?" Sam/Bobby/Ellen/John queried, the nauseating shift and settle of the voices, coalescing into a visual scream of vertigo as the faces flipped one over the other, blending and separating at violent speeds, the road itself almost protesting as it blurred and wavered all around him.

" I'm...I'm listening." He answered breathlessly, trying not to vomit in his own lap or on the -

**_car - remember you are in the Car - she's a bitch to clean if you get blood or puke on the_**

- upholstery - the stench took _weeks_ to fade.

" Good, good-" A rumble-shock of Sammy's and Dad's voices blended then shook apart - cascading like salt through a shaker, before settling into a humming in between - their faces fighting for dominance against the canvas of reality. Dean's gut clenched again, a sliver of a headache sliding between his eyes as a barely registered pain amongst the cacophony of other hurts, physical and otherwise.

" You don't want us to have to get your attention again - do you?" John-Sam grated, a chill of depravity and sorrow-joy coloring his/his voice. "You didn't like it so well, last time, if I recall..."


	3. Chapter 3

_For notes, summary and disclaimers, please see Chapter/Part One - and as always, I hope you enjoy!  
_

* * *

But that was then, wasn't it? They'd done this dance before.

As soon as he realised this, the road shimmered, blinked and came back into focus - his mind envisioning bright sunlight, complete with the baking, dancing warmth that goes with it - the night melting as if it had never been.

It's easier to see things in the light, after all - though it was also easier to hide, in oh-so-many ways...

He forced that thought away as the Guardian (for that's what this particular creature was) hissed It's displeasure, facing rippling back to It's true form - made even more hideous and horrifying by the wash of bright light pervading the close comfort of the Impala. He breathed deep and shook off the remnants of nausea and pain - challenging them for the memories they actually were, and almost recoiled in disgust from the abomination sitting beside him. It most certainly did NOT belong where it was sitting - that place was reserved for -

"-Sam?" It chuckled, it's voice a slithery hiss of metallic vowels and crystalline consonants - grating and irritating in it's almost soothing impact of sound. It petrified and reassured Dean all at once. The damned thing was trying to reassert control and it was almost working - almost. Several years ago it would have. He gritted his teeth in anger as another wave of nausea slammed into him, pain ratcheting up a notch on his neck, head and shoulders - a reminder of his position, and not a very subtle one either. It almost had him - but _almost_ was the key word nowadays. This Thing, this SLUG had-

" - no right to speak his name." Dean ground out, using every trick he knew to force away the imposed sensations - recognising them for the illusions and petty artifices that they were. " And you have no right to be here now."

" My rights," The Guardian hissed. " Such as they are - are not dictated by YOU, Winchester - and are therefore no concern of yours. So I'd keep that pretty mouth shut and a civil tongue in that head of yours, such as it is, when addressing your elders and betters."

Dean rolled his eyes, mildly noting the flicker of annoyance that sifted across the Guardian's alien features, rolling his fingers at him in a 'hurry up' gesture.

" Whatever you have to say, slime-ball, start saying it now - I have too little time and not enough-"

"Death." It cackled, watching him carefully as he struggled to keep all the sensations and emotions that one simple word could conjure up under tight wraps. Fear, hatred, agony and lust burned under his skin and he dreaded the thought that he might have to end this now and go face the music further Downstairs. It wasn't as if this leave was actually sanctioned. Right now, he was-

"-the fair-haired boy." The Thing cooed. " Daddy sent me to check on you - and let you know he misses you. He's sure that you are disappointed that he is having so much fun without you - he recently went...fishing - and he wanted to know if you wanted to join him here in a little while to go...fishing again?"

Hooks curved and razor-sharp, stained with endless amounts of gore and blood. Shining, twisted lengths of steel brushed to a fine sheen - then heated or chilled before being used in oh-so-many ways upon the hapless victim. No matter what, the end result was always the same: Matted hair, entrails and thin twists of skin splashed and streaked against iron-gray 'walls' and 'floor'. Screams of pain, pleasure and that odd mix in between, then echoes of that ever-hateful enemy of Noise called Silence. In Silence, you could slide away, just for a moment - take a breather, take a time out - and maybe, just maybe (if you were clever enough) you could 'go home' to your brother and just be DEAN again.

Oh, yes - he had gone fishing before, on both sides of that Hook - and the thought of it brought a hot, physically oily taste of dread and excitement flooding across his tongue, brought the blood rushing to his cheeks - but if it was in shame or want, he couldn't tell anymore. And _that_ was what made this so much more terrible. _He honestly couldn't tell_. Pleasure, pain, ecstasy, agony - it was all rapidly becoming the same. He didn't know how long it had been that way - didn't know when he could no longer suss out the real difference, or if he could ever tell that there even _was_ a difference. But when that stopped, that ability to just **know**...

He swallowed hard and turned to look out of the windshield - the serene flare of light and heat of midday causing him to momentarily close his eyes and bask, just for a second. If he forgot -

If he _**forgot**_...

He waved off the bolt of irritation that surfaced when the Creature in the passenger side (_Sam's_ side) smirked at him pompously - as if it knew what he was thinking - what he was feeling.

Right.

Guardians had usually been around so long, that if they felt anything at all it was a miracle in itself - so why It presumed to know him OR his feelings -

He quashed it again, that flash of anger and arranged his mannerisms in a posture of boredom - hooded, sleepy eyes studying the Guardian thoughtfully.

" Nahhh... I'm doin' my own thing here - kind of a...fishing...expedition of my own, you know? Tell Ali thanks from me, though - maybe next time -" He moved as if to start the car again, and was frozen by the wave of cold blasted at him from the right. Whoever said that Hell was hot, didn't know jack-shit.

" It is not **wise**, Winchester, to make assumptions on your status here. Daddy may not look upon this...invitation to join him as a request, see?"

There it was again, that hot, burning outrage that he now seemed to carry with him at all times, just below the surface. His eyes, his head, his _heart_ burned with it - and no matter how he fought, he couldn't stop the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth - the singing joy that the Rage brought as he turned his wrath and fear onto the slime-monger in Sam's seat.

" So...do YOU presume to know Alistair's mind, Guardian?" His voice rang deep and firm in the shrinking confines of the Chevy - crackling with fury and no small amount of insanity. Joy had its price here - and sanity was a commodity that was rare in the Pit - it was usually the first thing you sold while on the Rack - and Dean was no small exception.

The Guardian was fully aware of all of this - though It's own humanity was most likely centuries gone. A threat was a threat after all, no matter how it was issued, or who issued it - and It hesitated, eyes flicking from deep blue, to black, to blue again - a beacon of wariness and mild distress. It offered a smile and tried to back down like a whipped dog - but Dean knew where THAT road led as well - and he wasn't having it.

" Quit cowering, maggot - and don't even try to kiss my ass. Did you come down here to deliver a message, or just ruin my day with your stupid tricks and bullshit?"

" Daddy says-"

" And he is _not_ my father." Dean hissed, scrambling to keep his nervousness, panic and fear from resurfacing. You could only push one of these things so far - and though Rage helped, in the end, you only lost more of yourself when you used it. Not to mention that it only kept creatures like these intimidated for so long.


End file.
